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Donald Trump supporters “raping back” after anti-racist protestors shut down rally in Chicago

gangrapingCHICAGO — Friday night after protestors blocked a Donald Trump rally, frustrated Trump supporters fought back by gang raping people of color.

Riot police, outraged by infringements upon The Apprentice stars’ First Amendment rights, massaged their engorged organs from behind the privacy of bullet proof shields, beating at anyone who tried to escape the brutish kettle of primal abjection.

The rapers screeched “White genocide,” and whispered Trump slogans to their victims as a threat.

“You’re going to build the wall, and you’re going to like it, ya Mexican bitch,” one raper exclaimed on rape footage posted on LiveLeak. All videos of the incident were wiped from the internet quickly and a general media blackout continues unabated.

Many offenders took to social media to brag on the hashtag #TrumpRapeCrew. One rapist said, “We went after the Muslims because they must be used to it by now with how theyre [sic] countries are.” Other commenters hopped on the hashtag, connecting the event to the migrant rapings in Europe, “Whites aren’t just going to let themselves suffer genocide by the rapist hordes of muslim migrants. We’re finally raping back.”

“Build up the wall! Build up the wall!” the bloodthirsty crowd repeated.

The riot police handcuffed each rape victim as a single team of paramedics attended to the grievous wounds.

One Mexican, lying in the street and bound in zip-ties after an apparent attack, cried out for water.

“Get this…Mexican man some water, he’s dehydrated,” a paramedic said. “And he’s Mexican!”

A fair-skinned female medic unscrewed the lid of her canteen, kneeling in the grass at a reasonable distance from the brown-skinned man. She scooped up a pile of fresh dirt and added it to the draught.

“Here, it’s ready for him,” she said, and screwed the lid back on tight. She slid the canteen across the pavement to her partner. “This is how they drink it.”

The burly blonde EMS reassured the victim, pouring the sandy water into his savaged throat, “You just don’t know any better. And now you’re under arrest for disturbing Donald Trump’s free speech.”

The EMS clipped a police badge onto his navy blue medic uniform. Shocked eyewitnesses tell reporters he then tased the subdued victim in cold blood before leaving the scene in an armored vehicle.

Reporters noticed a wooden box – a coffin, apparently ripped out of a funeral home during rioting – with a sign attached to the wall. The sign read “We are not rapists” and had a hole cut in the center of the board, through the letter ‘o.’ Somebody was watching them through the hole. A brown iris darted, watching for attackers.

Reporters heard a muffled, forced cry from the box, “Trump was right.”

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News

Molly Crabapple calls for American Troops to intervene in Syria

Molly Crabapple calls for the US to mount an all-out invasion of Syria
Molly Crabapple calls for the US to mount an all-out invasion of Syria

INTERNET — Molly Crabapple tweeted Monday, “The US needs to launch an all-out ground assault on Syria to end Assad’s war crimes in Madaya,” Crabapple reiterated her position that US commanders are “pussies” for hesitating to bomb brown people so close to the Charlie Hebdo anniversary, adding, “Je Suis Charlie.”[pullquote]”Je suis Charlie.” – M. Crabapple[/pullquote]

Rachel Haywire, founder of the Molly Crabapple Fan Club, told reporters, “Some of Crabapple’s veteran and mercenary fans have already landed in Syria, armed to the teeth and ready to kill Assad himself. These are holy warriors on crusade.”

Crabapple recently finished a book tour for her latest offering at Lebal Drocer printing house, Cutting for Fame, a pornographic tale of masochistic excess and Machiavellian power grabs. It has achieved critical and popular acclaim, accounting for an outlandish focus of power, suspicion, and hatred upon the self-described “egg-headed slut,” Crabapple.

Leading political expert and fellow at the Internet Chronicle Department of Foreign Studies Dr. Angstrom H. Truebadour told chronicle.su he is deeply concerned about both Quangel and Crabapple’s promotion of the ongoing crisis in Syria.

Crabapple promised to personally hunt down and punish the “bastard trolls” responsible for aggressions against her family name. Already a hate mob on twitter is tracking down and ruining UN operative EM Quangel, the hate groupie who disappeared cunningly from Twitter last week in the wake of Crabapple’s doxing. She dealt a devastating blow to Quangel, the Spooks authors’ career, a move that Dr. Truebador called “a sad deviation from dankass cash money values.”

“We all did our time,” Truebadour said. “We saw the numbers in 2010-2011-2012. So many thousands dead: Assad did it. The rebels did it. We feel just terrible about it. But more bombing? The place is rebar, broken glass. Crabapple wants charred sand?”

Truebadour waved off the press as they gathered around his window atop an ivory tower in Princeton. Before closing the shutters, he flicked everyone off, and exposed himself to a female reporter standing on the lawn below. No charges were filed.

UPDATE: Crabapple tweeted a flurry of texts directing her soldiers in war, “I want all my fighters in Syria on Tor, immediately,” adding, “Slit Assad’s Throat!”

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News

LebalDrocer YouTopia Foam Mansion Project ushers in the final end to poverty and human struggle

Acclaimed housing expert and inventor of tomorrow’s forms of social domination, Dr. Angstrom H. Buckminster Troubadour, told a warm audience of white silicon valley elites exactly what they wanted to hear — the unsightliness of poverty has finally and permanently been solved by his team of scientists at the YouTopia foam mansion housing project.

“I’ve heard about the Yogi Vinay Gupta hellhole yurt and those pieces of shit are cardboard boxes that don’t get soggy.” Troubadour said. “Try living like that for a night. Try a year. They’re about as big and nice as a dog house, and the crypto mesh network has the slowest internet you’ve ever experienced. If you want tomorrow’s revolutionaries living in refrigerator sized yurts using an Internet that won’t make anyone any money, that’s fine for the third world, but Lebal Drocer and the Troubador YouTopia Foam Mansion Project promises a New World in which those displaced by corporate greed live like the 1% themselves.”

gupta-yurt-hell
Vinay Gupta casts dead eyes over a modern-day concentration camp of his making.

The individual foam mansion units, nicknamed YouTopia boxes by Dr. Troubadour, occupy a space roughly the size of a wooden shipping pallet but when constructed form a shining three story McMansion.

“These foam mansions are the beginning of a new era beyond sustainability. Their existence creates resources. These foam mansions promise to shake the very foundations of what it means to live inside foam. This is THE END and THE BEGINNING of the American underclass!” The audience fell silent with awe, in the grips of Troubador’s meaningful pause.

Troubador pounded his chest and the crowd withered beneath his terrible gaze, “Vinay Gupta says life viewed from inside a tiny foam yurt – a so-called solution to poverty – is to view the world from a high upon a heavenly cloud. For people like him, who have no lust for power, Lebal Drocer thinks that’s fine. But this is America, where we make winners and losers get what’s coming — a Gupta death camp. Life viewed from atop the Lebal Drocer Foam Mansion is always lined with gold, satisfyingly gripping to its foundation with the viscous blood of the shiftless masses far below.”

“The beginning of a new epoch — an invention more important than fire.”

Size comparison between Gupta's rat trap and Troubador's foam mansion.
Size comparison between Gupta’s rat trap and Troubador’s foam mansion.

Troubador pressed a button on his gadget and summoned a hologram fly-through of his incredible foam mansion exposing all the most beautiful, high-class amenities. “These foam castles are far better than Vinay Gupta’s hovels because they are made from 100% recycled gym mat foam salvaged from middle school foreclosures taking place all across America. The price on this recyclable material has plummeted even further since Subway ended the practice of putting it into their bread. In fact, because of total lack of regulation in so-called ‘sacrifice zones’ we’re now able to create a totally sustainable paradise home for half the price of the average sedan.”

The crowd cried out in agony as if tortured by ecstasy upon receiving knowledge that Troubador had not only solved poverty but also the issue of social mobility. He leaned forward and brought them to an even higher climax with a well-timed techno mind grenade, turning the congregation into a writhing pile of flesh, each mind surging with the force of 10,000 simultaneous orgasms.

“We got foam-ass mansions up in here. The plumbing is thin plastic – so thin – maybe it’s like thin aluminum cans or something, and we make the wires even thinner. We actually run network cables into these mansions with a free internet plan from Facebook!”

Hundreds in the audience fell to their knees, supplicants at the altar of Lebal Drocer. A woman was heard weeping. A baby spoke in tongues.

Troubadour raised his fist, and his voice, threatening any detractors. “Any talk of these mansions taking their materials from the so-called middle or lower foam class is communist ideology that will result in genocide of all castes,” Troubadour barked. “I will personally kill, with these two bare hands, any potential future dissidents calling for liberation movements on the basis of class, race, creed, or gender. Foam, and nothing but foam shall be tolerated henceforth as the only legitimate political speech and action. We would rather DIE than see our fellow man force-Ubered into one of Gupta’s hovel camps. Instead, we aim to see humanity’s worst raised to the towering height of this shining foam mansion — a castle, a conquest, a Bordello.”

The hologram foam mansion twirled and glowed, filling with the naked bodies of masturbating futanari all reaching orgasm at once, spraying their hermaphroditic fluids like a leaky firehose onto every surface of the glorious, shining foam.